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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602708">Porch Haircuts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_Underground/pseuds/Living_Underground'>Living_Underground</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The X-Files</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-breakup, The Unremarkable House (X-Files), post iwtb, pre-Revival</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:21:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,694</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_Underground/pseuds/Living_Underground</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder needs some TLC (and a haircut).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fox Mulder/Dana Scully</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Porch Haircuts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Look at me, Ma, I'm really in the flow of this writing thing again! <br/>Except I'd never say that because I don't talk to my Ma and she wouldn't care even if we did talk. </p>
<p>Well, on that happy note...</p>
<p>I was reading something today that prompted this, something about a couch, something that really has nothing to do with anything that happens in this, but there was just that moment of spark, and I have no idea what it was that I was reading, but I know that I never finished it and I really want to. I'm just going to trawl through Tumblr 'til I find it. </p>
<p>I was not actually expecting this to be this long.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’ve been separated for about a year now. Dana living in a sprawling bungalow, modern and sharp, Fox living in the same old unremarkable house they had cohabited for so long together. They still kept in contact. Phone calls on birthdays and Christmas and various dates that had no relevance but to them. But it wasn’t until he stopped returning her calls that she got worried. He was so far from everyone else out there. So alone. What if something had happened? What if he was sick? What if he was hurt? What if he had… she couldn’t even consider the possibility of him doing something to himself, if only because she knew, with all her heart, that it was a possibility, and she also knew she could have done more to prevent it if he had.</p>
<p>And so, she drove out to the lonely abode, unlocked the combination lock on the gate (it was stiff, had he not been out in a while? Had he not had anyone in?) and drove up the long drive, heart clenching in her chest at what she feared she would discover in the house. She stood a moment by her car, breathing in the unpolluted air, the stillness of the late morning. Taking a minute to pray he was okay. It was futile, she realised; when had he ever been okay?</p>
<p>She knocked on the door when she reached it, waiting as patiently as she could. She had a key, but he had always been all too happy to point a gun when someone entered his domain – not that she could blame him. But when there was no response, and her call went unanswered too, she dug in her purse for the ring of keys she kept. Two of them were defunct now, apartments that the keys should probably have been returned to years ago when the leases were given up. A shiny new one sat next to them, the crenellations still sharp from infrequent use, and then the old, battered bronze key. The key to the door she stood in front of. Knocking one more time, just in case, she let herself in. The central room was dark, striped with narrow beams of light filtering through the slats in the drawn blinds. In the dimness, she could see him, limbs spilling off the couch, Navajo Afghan draped haphazardly across his torso. She doubted he was particularly comfortable, but the heavy crease in his brow and the dark bags around his eyes suggested he hadn’t been sleeping a lot anyway.</p>
<p>She sighed as she crouched before him, her fingertips combing through his tangled hair, longer than she had ever seen it, soothing over the deep furrows on his forehead, around his eyes. ‘Fox? Mulder…?’</p>
<p>‘Mmm…wh…gnnggghhh…’ the recognition of having someone else in his house hit then and he bolted upright with a gasp.</p>
<p>‘Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.’</p>
<p>He stared at her, deep concentration at trying to figure out why she was there. ‘Is something wrong? Has something happened?’</p>
<p>She smiled then, her hand cupping his cheek tenderly. ‘No, I was worried about you. You stopped returning my calls.’</p>
<p>‘You should have stopped caring by now.’</p>
<p>The look of hurt across her face was instant. ‘Why would I stop caring? You’re family.’</p>
<p>‘I… I just figured… I’m not your real family, and since we broke up, I just… you have more important people to care about.’ The room was slow with sadness, a sleepy depression leeching from every surface. She stood up with determination and walked away from him. ‘Mrs Scully?’ An arched eyebrow thrown over her shoulder, one that was definitely a family trait. ‘Maggie. What…?’</p>
<p>‘You need a haircut, Fox. And you need some light in here,’ a sharp tug on the cord for the first window of blinds, a cacophony of clacks as they were yanked upwards. He squinted in the harsh light that revealed the mess of folders, files and sunflower seed hulls. ‘Better already. Now, put a t-shirt and pants on, Dear.’</p>
<p>Minutes later they were situated on the porch steps, Maggie behind Mulder, a pair of scissors in hand. Already dark tufts were floating off in the slight breeze, the gentle snips mixing with the susurrations of the long grass and a chorus of goldfinches singing in one of the trees behind the house, an informal orchestra filling the peaceful silence between them.</p>
<p>‘Why are you back to sleeping on your couch again?’</p>
<p>‘Again?’ He asked innocently. ‘I don’t know what you-‘</p>
<p>‘Dana told me years ago, first time she went to your apartment for something, that you seemed to sleep on your couch. She worried about you, you know. Worried that it wasn’t good for your back and that it couldn’t be comfortable.’</p>
<p>‘Oh.’</p>
<p>‘I have to say, if she knew you were back on the couch she would probably be worried again. Not that she doesn’t worry about you anyway.’</p>
<p>‘She does?’ surprise and hope were laced through his voice.</p>
<p>Maggie sighed. ‘Of course, she does. She always will. She’s spent the last twenty years worrying after you.’</p>
<p>‘Oh, right.’</p>
<p>There was a pause as she considered whether she should reveal something she wasn’t entirely certain her daughter wanted Mulder to know. But maybe it would help him, and her in return. ‘She thinks she’s bad for you. She’s positive that she’s worse for you than you are alone,’ he went to interrupt her and she held the hand with the scissors up, ‘and before you say anything, I disagree with her. But she worries that you both use one another as crutches rather than actually dealing with your problems. She says she lets you get away with not going to therapy despite needing it, and that you do the same for her. She says you are unhappy together.’</p>
<p>‘I don’t think that’s true. I don’t think we’re unhappy together.’</p>
<p>‘But she does, Fox. Or, at least she does when your depression is bad.’</p>
<p>‘I’m not, I don’t…I’m not depressed.’</p>
<p>Maggie snorted. ‘Did you actually graduate from Oxford with a degree in psychology, or is that just something you tell people? I just walked into your house with you sleeping at midday on the couch when I know there is a bed upstairs, your hair so overgrown I’m worried I’ll find an old bathtub and a picnic bench in here. When was the last time you left the house?’</p>
<p>‘Uhh…’</p>
<p>‘I’ll take that as meaning it was a while ago.’ She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I don’t need a degree in psychology to suggest you need therapy. Maybe part of the problem was that you spent so much time focused on things that you promised were behind you. I don’t know, I’m not going to pretend to understand your relationship, it was complicated from the off. Like magnets, you two are. Gravitating towards one another constantly, orbiting one another like you’re in some science-fair solar system model. I saw it so many times, at Thanksgivings and Christmases and Easters and birthdays and Memorial Days and Independence Days you spent with us. You know, sometimes I wondered if it was healthy for you two, so intense, even when you were just friends. I used to ask Dana about the two of you constantly, trying to coax answers from her. During her illness, and a little afterwards. When you started spending holidays with us. I thought there must have been something more there, between you, than either would ever tell. All those little touches, deep looks, silent conversations. It was fascinating.’</p>
<p>He was lost, hearing the story of them from a different perspective. ‘When did you find out there was something between us?’</p>
<p>‘She used to go shy, embarrassed, blush and giggle and bite her lip. She’d roll her eyes and tell me to stop imagining things that weren’t there. “Mom!” she’d say, “stop it, he’s just a colleague. We just work together. He’s just a friend!”  And then, one day, when I made a comment, she didn’t. She looked me in the eye for the first time when talking about you. That’s when I knew. Three months later you were gone and a week after that she told me she was pregnant.’ A sad sigh as she wrapped up the story. ‘Why aren’t you sleeping in your bed, Fox?’</p>
<p>He swallowed thickly, taking a moment to formulate his answer. ‘I can’t. It…there are too many memories. It's <em>our</em> bed. We…it just hurts too much. It’s too big, too empty.’</p>
<p>‘I know. When my husband died I felt similar. I was so used to having him sleep next to me, not to have him there was like being back when he was in the navy. It was lonely. But I had to learn, just like you do, to adapt. To move forwards.’</p>
<p>‘I miss her.’</p>
<p>Maggie nodded, lapsing into silence again as she finished with the back and sides of his hair and moved around to tidy up the front. When she was done she ran one final hand through it, ruffling it up and smoothing it back down again before standing up. ‘She misses you, too. But you need to get better, get help.’</p>
<p>She left, half an hour later, after straightening the living room up, neatening piles of files and newspapers, and making sure Mulder put a load of laundry on to wash, with a promise that he would be coming to hers for dinner on Tuesday night – with all her little birds flown the nest, she cooked far too much for just herself, and was planning and casserole that she would need help with. He knew as well as she did that she would freeze down what she didn’t eat, and that she spent most nights having friends and neighbours around to share dinner with, but he also appreciated that she knew he wouldn’t go over without an excuse.</p>
<p>They’d been through a lot together: Dana’s abduction, her illness, many Thanksgivings and Christmases. He was family, and she cared for him like a son. She always would, no matter what.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yay, you reached the finish line! Have a medal.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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